Acting bug that took 55 years to bite

His daughter was already a star when, at the age of 55, he decided that if she could do it, he could, too. So he packed in his cosy job as a school inspector, lied about his age, and went back to school.

"Ah, but it was a family tradition," he says. "I'd always wanted to act, really."

It was a mid-life crisis of sorts, prompted by the death of a relative, that caused him to re-assess his career. He had been a teacher and lecturer for years, eventually moving up the educational career ladder. But now, at home in leafy Sussex, he began to reflect upon his early life in Bradford, and on the showbusiness stories handed down to him by his mother.

"She was a variety artiste," he says. "When I was born she was half of a double-act: Daisy Knowles and Lily May. She was Daisy.

"They did a comedy song and dance soubrette routine, working the clubs and the piers at Blackpool, and in the twenties they played the Alhambra."

Mrs Bell had left school at 11, around the turn of the last century, and joined a juvenile theatre troupe. She turned professional and remained on the stage until her forties, at which time she started helping her parents run their pub, the Royal Oak in Skipton. Meanwhile she and her family had settled in Bradford's Bolton Road.

"I remember there was a big fair in Manningham Park every May," says Michael. "In 1939, my mother was responsible for choreographing the presentation of the crown to the May Queen, and I was going to carry it. I'd be dressed in a satin suit and surrounded by all these beautiful girls. I was very excited.

"But the war was looming and either they cancelled it or I was evacuated. Can't quite remember. Either way, it was the end of my stardom."

Half a lifetime was to pass before he had another crack.

"I made my career in education, but I always thought that when I retired I'd like to go into the theatre."

His daughter was already tasting fame. She had changed her name to Rachel Fielding and would go on to play Francesca in the cult TV show, This Life. "She'd been to Bristol Old Vic, and I followed her there," says Michael. "I told them I was 47 and they accepted me.

"It meant halving my income and having my wife and daughter support me, but it was something I felt I had to do. I wanted to be an actor.

"I did a deal with my employers, left my job and that was that."

Ten years on, with roles in EastEnders and Dalziel and Pascoe under his belt, as well as a long string of theatre credits, he is on the verge of returning home to Bradford, albeit temporarily.

Michael has joined the touring company of Fame 2000, an updated version of the musical about the kids at the New York School for the Performing Arts. He plays one of the teachers, which is, he admits, casting to type.

In a few weeks time, the show will dock at the Alhambra.

"One of the reasons I took the job was the prospect of coming back there," he says.

"I haven't been inside the place since I was taken to see Norman Evans and Nat Jackley in pantomime as a kid. All I remember is being frightened by the beanstalk and being too shy to go on stage for a bag of sweets."

Michael's dad was his chaperone then, but in truth, the old man had weightier matters on his mind.

His mother may have been a showgirl, but Michael's father had his roots in the altogether less glamorous world of West Yorkshire's dying mills.

He'd been steered through early life by a stepfather - but it was his dearest wish to trace his natural dad.

Says Michael: "My grandfather had buzzed off to America, and when my dad reached 16 his stepfather gave him money to go and find him."

It was a futile search, and one that goes on to this day.

"I've been trying to track down my grandfather's descendants ever since," says Michael, who plans to spend any spare time during his Alhambra run combing through the local public records offices.

So far he has traced his family's local connections back to the mid-19th century, when his step-grandfather managed a mill in Keighley. Later, his dad played professional rugby here.

His links with Bradford's present, however, have long been cut.

"I have no relatives left in the north," he says. "The last one died about a year ago. My dad's sister died quite young, and her daughter's now died as well."

Michaels' success in the West End run of Fame last year brought him a crumb of comfort in a period that saw the death of his wife.

"The show is good therapy," he says. "It's so lively it can't help but lift you."

In fact, it's a bona fide phenomenon - a hit on film and TV before even being conceived as a stage musical. In the words of its own title song, it's gonna live forever.

Michael is currently counting the days to curtain up at the Alhambra. His last visit to the city some years ago took him only as close as his old house on Bolton Road.

"Our air raid shelter had become a garden shed, but the one next door was still in the ground exactly as I remembered it," he says. "Real dj vu."

He also, on that occasion, continued his investigation into his family's history.

"It's important to keep looking for traces of my grandfather," he insists. "You never know - he might have been a millionaire."

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.